The Cavendon Women by Barbara Taylor Bradford
DeLacy’s favorite club was the Kit Cat. She loved to dance, and the club had a black jazz band from America which she thought was the best in town. She could do the Charleston, the Black Bottom, but mostly favored the foxtrot and the tango. The other reason she liked this club was because Simon hardly ever went there.
After a happy celebration supper at the Grosvenor Square house, Miles suggested they go to a nightclub to celebrate the return of the jewels. These were now safely locked up in the vault down in the basement.
Several of the women demurred, and Miles exclaimed, “Oh, come on, let’s go out and have a bit of fun for once. All we do these days is work, and worry about keeping Cavendon safe. I could use a bit of a bash and I bet everyone else could.”
“Yes, it would be lovely; come on, don’t be spoilsports,” Cecily cajoled. “It’ll do us good.”
Diedre declined. She explained she felt queasy and wanted Paul to take her home.
Dulcie was adamant about not going, murmuring something about drawing up plans for the interiors of her art gallery. But, in truth, she preferred to go up to her room and think about James. He had asked her to meet him after the play ended tomorrow evening. He wished to take her to dinner at the Savoy. “And at least I can hold you in my arms on the dance floor,” he had said. And she had agreed to go to the stage door to pick him up.
Hugo, noticing that Miles now had a glum expression on his face, decided they should humor him. Hugo had been unable to accompany them to Charles Street earlier today, because of a business meeting. But Miles had assured him Lawrence Pierce really was abroad, and that Daphne would be perfectly safe with their mother, they all would. Felicity would have no one there to run interference for her or throw them out.
“Yes, let’s go!” Hugo exclaimed. “Daphne and I will join you.” He smiled at his wife as he said this, and added, “I would love a whirl with you, darling. And it has been ages since we’ve had a night out. Miles is right about that.”
Daphne agreed at once, looked at her sister, and said, “Come on, DeLacy, you’re the expert. Where shall we go?”
“The Kit Cat. I love it and they know me well there. But we’d better leave soon. They get awfully busy after eleven.” DeLacy stood up and walked across the dining room. “Hurry up,” she called, going out into the foyer.
* * *
They were welcomed with open arms and a lot of bowing and scraping by the staff of the Kit Cat. And naturally, because it was Lady DeLacy, they were given the best table in the nightclub. The decorations were glamorous, and there was a great buzz. But it was smoky, the light a bit murky. On the other hand, the black jazz band was playing their hearts out, and the atmosphere was exciting, thrilling really. They had arrived just in time. Within half an hour the club was packed with flappers, beautiful girls in short frocks accompanied by handsome young men, smoking cigarettes and holding glasses of champagne in their hands.
Automatically, several waiters brought champagne and a bowl of caviar, a plate of toast fingers along with lemon wedges to their table.
“God, caviar,” Miles said, glancing at DeLacy. “I love it! But I’m not sure I can eat it right now.”
DeLacy smiled at him. “You might later; we all might. And they will bring other small things, like smoked salmon on toast, small steak sandwiches. They have to serve food because of the liquor laws. Anyway, you might be hungry in an hour or two.”
“I understand.” Miles lifted his champagne flute and said, “Cheers, everyone. And thank you, ladies, for being my team. We got the jewelry. Part of our safety net is back in our hands.”
“Cheers,” they all said, echoing him.
Hugo said, “Thank goodness it went off without a hitch. But then she was outnumbered and outmatched. I recently heard that Felicity was not quite as bright mentally as she used to be.”
“Oh, I don’t know about that,” Miles asserted. “I thought she was very alert. Didn’t you, Daphne? DeLacy?”
DeLacy said, “Very much so. And she was the other day when I had tea with her and Pierce. But I do think she gets a bit flustered when he is away. Wilson sort of indicated she was possessive of him.”
“I agree with that,” Daphne interjected. “And I’m just thankful we managed to accomplish our … mission, shall we call it … without there being any kind of scandal. You know Papa wouldn’t like that at all. And incidentally, they’ll be back in London in about two weeks. He has to give Diedre away, you know.”
Miles asked Cecily to dance, and together, hand in hand, they went onto the dance floor, smiling at each other, happy to be together. At one moment, against his cheek, she said, “I’m so happy you managed to retrieve the jewels, Miles. However, you must always remember that when you have something to sell, you must have a buyer. If you don’t, you have nothing of value.”
Miles kept on dancing, but he was startled by these words, and leaned back slightly, staring down at her. “What do you mean?”
“Exactly what I said. There must be someone who wants the commodity, whatever it is, otherwise it’s a worthless commodity.”
“That’s a depressing thought. You’ve just thrown cold water on my jubilant mood,” he said in a low voice, trying not to show he was annoyed.
“No, I haven’t,” she answered, drawing close to him again. “I’m just pointing out the reality of things … because when your father comes back, I want you to advise him to sell certain pieces of jewelry. And I think he ought to allow Dulcie to open her gallery and sell the items in storage in the attics. What good are they doing there?”
“Why this desire to sell things all of a sudden?” Miles asked, trying not to sound worried.
“Because the world is in a buying mood, on a roll right now. There’s a lot of money around. People are in a good mood because business is roaring along nonstop. Everyone has telephones and cars. Women are buying … and especially my clothes. In other words, it’s boom time.”
“I see what you’re getting at, and I suppose you’re right. There’s an awful lot of jewelry at Cavendon even without these pieces we just got back. I will talk to him. And you must talk to Charlotte. You know she has the most influence over him.”
“I certainly will. And Charlotte has a lot of common sense. But let’s forget it now, and enjoy ourselves.” She kissed his cheek and whispered, “I love you, Miles Ingham. I love you with all my heart.”
“And I love you, my smart, clever, adorable Cecily Swann.”
A few moments later Miles and Cecily both noticed that Hugo and Daphne were now dancing. And they edged closer to them, moving through other couples on the floor.
Miles glanced at Daphne, and asked, “Did you leave DeLacy alone? I think Ceci and I should go back to the table. She might be a bit forlorn. You know how she gets.”
“Oh, she’s not forlorn, not one bit. Some extremely handsome man came over to the table and introduced himself to us. It was the well-known painter Travers Merton. He asked if he could speak with her privately, so Hugo and I got up and came onto the dance floor.”
“Travers Merton,” Miles repeated. “My goodness.”
Cecily murmured, “DeLacy can handle herself, Miles. She’ll be fine. Let’s enjoy this dance.”
* * *
When Travers Merton arrived at the table, asking if she was Lady DeLacy Ingham, DeLacy had nodded, wondering who this man was.
Now the two of them were chatting earnestly and drinking champagne together. When Hugo and Daphne had done their disappearing act, she had asked the artist to sit down, and he had done so at once.
“What a stroke of luck,” Travers said now, gazing at DeLacy. “Pierce said you were beautiful, but he underplayed it. You are staggeringly beautiful, Lady DeLacy. The most beautiful woman I have ever seen. It is my honor to paint your portrait. And I wish to thank you in advance for agreeing to sit for me. I just hope I can do you justice.”
DeLacy was beaming at him, flattered by his words. He was not only charming, but a darkly handsome man wit
Finding her voice, she said, “I am the one who is honored. Thank you for agreeing to paint me, Mr. Merton.”
Leaning across the table, he said in a soft voice, “I wish we could start the portrait tomorrow. You’re not by any chance free, are you?”
“I am, yes. In the afternoon.”
“Oh, that’s marvelous. Could you come to my studio at about four o’clock? The light will still be good. I could do the preliminary sketches.”
“It’s a perfect time for me,” DeLacy replied, feeling suddenly hot all over. She hoped she wasn’t blushing.
Travers Merton was filled with pleasure, and he lifted his champagne flute. “To our collaboration. I think it is going to be rather exciting, don’t you?”
DeLacy clinked her glass to his, and merely smiled.
Travers smiled back, and knew at that moment he was going to make her his. He wouldn’t be able to resist her. She was delectable, sexually arousing to him. No wonder Lawrence Pierce wanted her for himself. He had never said that exactly, but Travers Merton realized she would be Pierce’s ultimate prize. Lawrence Pierce had taken everything from Felicity. Her love. Her sexuality. A great deal of her money. And lately her peace of mind. To Travers it was obvious Pierce would want her gorgeous daughter. That was the way the man was made. And Travers was positive the surgeon suffered from priapism. Certainly he couldn’t resist women. He was a serial womanizer of the worst kind.
“You’re rather quiet,” DeLacy said, looking across the table at Travers Merton, wondering what he was thinking.
“Oh, I’m so sorry. I’m afraid I was caught up in my thoughts about your portrait. I was wondering what you planned to wear. Perhaps we could discuss it?”
DeLacy nodded. She felt relaxed with the artist, found him attractive, and he gave her a certain confidence. “It will be head and shoulders, will it?” she asked.
“I think so. Yes, yes,” he answered swiftly, studying her in the dim light of the nightclub. “You do have the loveliest neck, swanlike, and I can see part of your shoulders. They are perfect, smooth as white marble.” He paused, sipped his champagne. “If you have a gown that is off the shoulders, or a blouse with the same neckline, either would be ideal. I would like it to be white … very virginal. Ideal for such a beauty as you.”
“I have a number of suitable things,” DeLacy said, enjoying his flattery, his lovely manner with her.
“Are you free over the weekend? We could really make progress if you can sit for me then. Perhaps I could start on the canvas.”
At this precise moment DeLacy saw Clarissa walking into the club on the arm of a good-looking young man. Miles had told her that Clarissa had put on weight, and looked blowsy and unkempt. But not tonight. She was still a little plump but well groomed and elegant, her brown hair cut in a sleek bob, and she was wearing makeup and looked quite beautiful in a yellow chiffon gown. A bit of a transformation had obviously taken place. She couldn’t wait to tell Miles.
Travers cleared his throat.
“Yes, I am available on Saturday, and on Sunday also,” DeLacy announced. “I know Lawrence wants to give the portrait to my mother for Christmas, and that’s not so far off.”
“I will give him the portrait of you in time,” Travers Merton answered. But I won’t give you to him, he thought. You are going to be mine. I shall save you from him. There was no way Travers could know that night that DeLacy would be his greatest love. Or that she would cost him his life.
Forty-three
Paul Drummond sat at his desk in Hugo’s London office, going over a few notes he had made about the dinner in New York which he had recently planned. It was to be a celebration of his marriage to Diedre, in fact, for family and old friends. It would be small but elegant.
He leaned forward and looked at the calendar. It was Thursday, September 30, today. In exactly ten days, on Sunday, October 10, they would become husband and wife.
Diedre was thrilled that her father would be giving her away, relieved that Charles and Charlotte would be returning to London next week. The marriage would be in London, and the reception at the Grosvenor Square house.
He, too, was thrilled that his half brother Timothy was already in London. He had arrived several days ago, and was ensconced at the Ritz Hotel in Piccadilly with his wife, Elizabeth, their fifteen-year-old daughter, Gwynneth, and twin sons, Lance and Cole, who were twelve. Tim was going to be his best man.
Dulcie, DeLacy, and his niece Gwynneth were going to be Diedre’s bridesmaids, in frocks designed and made by Cecily, who had also created the wedding gown for the bride.
They had both wanted a small wedding, but Diedre had insisted on certain things, including four ushers. When he had asked who they were, just out of curiosity, she had said, with a twinkle in her bright blue eyes, “James Brentwood, Miles, Hugo, and Harry Swann. How do you like them apples?”
He laughed to himself now, remembering how she had picked up that phrase from him, as well as many others. He had told her he liked “them apples” a lot.
After the wedding, they would spend a few days in London, then sail to New York on the Aquitania.
Once they arrived in Manhattan, they would be living at his triplex apartment on Park Avenue. Two years ago his mother had moved out and given it to him. It was too big for her and the stairs were troublesome. Since then, she had occupied his small bachelor apartment on Fifth, which Elizabeth had revamped for her. It was much more comfortable for his mother, and it was on one floor.
He could not help thinking what a great idea that switch had been. He had a lovely home to take Diedre to, plus the family mansion in Connecticut, left to him by his father in his will.
The ringing phone brought Paul up with a start, and he reached for it. “Drummond here.”
“Hello, Paul,” his brother said.
“This is a nice surprise.” Glancing at the clock, seeing that it was just twelve noon, he asked, “Do you happen to be free for lunch, Tim?”
“Yes. But I’d like to come over to your office first. Ask Hugo to join us, will you?”
“I will, but he might not be free.”
“He’ll have to make himself free. I have something important to tell you. It’s urgent. I’m leaving the hotel now, so I should be there in about fifteen minutes. See you.”
Tim hung up. Pushing himself to his feet, suddenly hit by a rush of anxiety, Paul left his office, wondering what had happened. Something was wrong. And it had to be about business, not his mother’s health.
He knocked on Hugo’s door and walked in uninvited, so anxious was he.
Hugo was on the phone, and stared across at Paul. “Can you give me a minute or two?”
“Sorry, no. Something has happened, has to be business. Tim wants to see us. Right now. He’s on his way over here.”
“I’ll have to go, Daphne,” Hugo said. “I’ll ring you later, darling.” He put the receiver down and said, “Didn’t he tell you what it was?”
“No. But I know him intimately. He was tense, terse, and I’ve a horrible feeling it’s to do with us.”
* * *
“I got a call late yesterday afternoon from Allan Carlton. As you know, Paul, he’s my vice president at the bank,” Tim said, and looked over at Hugo. “Brilliant guy, well connected, has his ear close to the ground, knows a lot no one else knows in the banking world and Wall Street.”
Hugo nodded. “In other words, he’s a reliable source.”
“More than reliable. He doesn’t pass anything to me unless he’s absolutely certain it’s true.”
“How does he manage that?” Hugo asked, sounding doubtful.
Timothy said, “I don’t know, I don’t ask, and he’s never been wrong.”
“What did he tell you yesterday?” Paul gave his brother a search
“He said that from information he has just received he believes Transatlantic Air is in dire straits, desperately trying to raise money. He predicts they could go belly-up, and real soon.”
“Oh my God!” Hugo exclaimed, reeling with shock. His face was ashen.
Paul had also lost his color; his face was pale. His voice was shaky when he said, “When will this happen? Did Allan say?”
“No, he could only hazard a guess. He thinks it will be sometime soon, within this month. Al Birkin, the guy who runs the company, has a few tricks up his sleeve. And a possible buyer for Transatlantic, some German tycoon. But can he pull it off? That we don’t know.”
“They won’t buy us out now, will they?” Hugo muttered.
Timothy exclaimed, “They don’t have anything to buy you out with! No cash.”
“We had twenty million invested,” Paul managed to say. “Which we’re about to lose if the company does go belly-up.”
“When it goes belly-up, Paul, because it will. And they’ll declare bankruptcy. So, yes, the investment is gone, kaput, out the window,” his brother said in a firm voice, shaking his head.
Hugo gaped at them both and slumped back in his chair, looking as if he was about to pass out.
Timothy went on, “You’ve both lost five million bucks each. You can eat that loss, Paul. It won’t entirely ruin you. But what about you, Hugo? Can you afford to lose five million dollars?”
“Not really, but I do have some other investments I can cash in, to fill the gap, keep my family financially secure. But Cavendon had ten million dollars invested in Transatlantic. That’s a loss they can’t afford. The money we invested was for the future, death duties, annual taxes, renovations, and future generations—” Hugo did not finish his sentence.